Chapter Nine

FRITZ BAUM AND Amos Dumfries reached Placeras a week after the attack on the stage.

The rancher had wanted to bring some of his men along, but the bounty hunter had vetoed the idea, unwilling to risk the vengeful Dumfries organizing an impromptu hanging. In his own curious way, Baum felt a sense of honor. By now he had heard enough about the man called Matthew Gunn that he held a picture of the man in his mind. Not a visual image, but an idea of a man riding his own trail, living his own life no matter what the odds. He felt a grudging respect; almost a kinship with his quarry.

And he was determined to fulfill the terms of his contract: to find Breed and take him back to the mysterious man in Cinqua.

By the time they reached Placeros the Army had found the wrecked stage and brought the bodies in. Passengers and crew were all buried in the little graveyard outside of town, and what few personal effects had been recovered were sent east to the line’s head office for subsequent return to any relatives.

The two men checked the graveyard. There were four markers, Stotter’s and Weisskopf’s bought by the company and inscribed with suitable legends. Stotter’s read: Michael Stotter. A fine driver and a brave man. Mourned by all who knew him. There were three pots of flowers on the grave, and in a small shack on the outskirts of town a Mexican girl was nursing a black eye and wondering what the new driver would look like. Weisskopf s marker just had a bunch of dying blooms below the words, David Weisskopf, a good man who is missed by all his friends.

The other two just carried names that had been supplied by the depot manager and paid for by the company. They were very simple, made of the cheapest stone available; tokens of the stage line’s responsibility.

There were no more graves.

Baum and Dumfries went back to the depot.

‘All I know is the little feller got on the stage. That’s all, mister. He was the first on. Seemed real anxious to go.’

Dumfries flattened a five-dollar bill carefully on the counter. ‘What about his friend? Tall man, with long blond hair.’

‘The half-breed?’ The depot manager shrugged. ‘He lit out afore the stage. Never bought no ticket. Best check with Andy, over to the stable.’

Dumfries and Baum went over to the stable.

‘Sure,’ said Andy, spitting a long plume of liquid tobacco over the straw. ‘I remember him. Big feller with mean eyes. Figgered him for a ’breed right from the start. Had good money, though. An’ a nice pony. Big gray stallion with Arab blood. Took it out a while afore the stage left. Don’t know where he was headed, though. I seen him in the Silver Dollar, drinkin’ with the little guy, so maybe Ned might know.’

Ned shook his head and scratched at a nail where the varnish had come loose.

‘I just serve drinks, friend.’ His eyes fluttered over Baum’s muscular frame and the German blushed. ‘I don’t ask too many questions. If you know what I mean.’

Dumfries stretched another five-dollar bill between his fingers.

‘But you hear things, don’t you?’

‘Oh sure.’ Ned took the bill. ‘I even heard them talk about going to Lordsburg, but I guess you know that. I mean, they wouldn’t have taken the stage otherwise, would they?’

‘Whiskey,’ rasped Baum. ‘An’ wash the glasses.’

They sat down and settled in to killing the bottle as they discussed their next move.

‘The bastards could be anywhere,’ said Dumfries. ‘Maybe they’re dead.’

‘No.’ Baum shook his head. ‘A feller like Gunn don’t die so easy. What’d that guy at the depot say about the stage?’

‘Said the Army found four bodies an’ lost the track’s up towards the badlands,’ grunted Dumfries. ‘You heard that, same as me.’

‘Driver.’ Baum slapped a calloused finger on the table. ‘Shotgun guard. Two passengers. There were three got on. An’ just one horse missing.’

‘He said the others were bust up,’ said Dumfries. ‘Maybe the broncos just run off the one good horse.’

‘You ever fight Apaches?’ asked the German. ‘Enough to know them?’

‘I fought ’em,’ nodded the rancher. ‘Wouldn’t say I ever got to know the scum.’

‘I have,’ rasped the bounty hunter. ‘An’ they’re superstitious.’

‘What the hell’s that mean?’ Dumfries poured more whiskey. ‘I don’t follow you.’

‘You seen the way they paint up their mustangs an’ shields, ain’t you?’ grunted Baum. ‘All pictures? Medicine paint?’

‘Sure.’ The rancher nodded, staring over the rim of his glass. ‘So?’

‘So there was three men got on that stage,’ said the German, ‘but only two bodies found. There was just one horse taken. Right?’

‘Sure, that’s right,’ frowned Dumfries. ‘What you gettin’ at?’

‘Jesus!’ Baum glowered at the big, silver-haired man. ‘They told us there was stuff scattered halfway to Arizona, but they didn’t find nothing that looked like it belonged to the artist.’

‘Could’ve blown away,’ murmured the rancher. ‘I still ain’t followin’ you.’

‘You ever see an Apache sand painting?’ asked Baum.

Dumfries shook his head.

‘They do ’em a lot,’ said the German. ‘It’s like the paint on their horses: medicine paint. Suppose that artist was carryin’ things he done. The injuns might just have seen ’em. Figgered he could make medicine paint, too.’

‘You sayin’ they took him?’ queried the rancher. ‘I don’t see that.’

‘The Army didn’t find no body,’ said Baum, his voice thoughtful now as the idea took hold. ‘An’ there was just that one horse gone.’

‘That still don’t lead us to Breed,’ said Dumfries. ‘Or you figger he was with the injuns?’

‘No,’ said Baum. ‘Not with ’em, but maybe followin’ them.’

‘Why?’ Dumfries emptied the bottle. ‘You’re way ahead of me.’

‘That ain’t difficult,’ muttered the bounty hunter. ‘Lissen. The half-breed ducked into a fight with yore boy on account of the artist. He took the feller out of San Jacinto an’ we know they come here together. The artist got on the stage, but now he’s disappeared. The half-breed quit town the same day.’

‘Yeah.’ Dumfries set his glass down and shouted for Ned to bring a fresh bottle. ‘We know all that, but I still don’t see how it helps us.’

Baum shook his head, sighing.

‘Suppose the ’breed heard about the attack? Maybe saw it. Maybe he was even makin’ sure his little buddy got through safe to Lordsburg. Then he sees the injuns come in an’ take the artist away. What’s he gonna do?’

Dumfries poured fresh drinks and shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s why you ain’t in my profession,’ grunted Baum. ‘Raisin’ cows don’t take so much thought.’